The End
by Wario the TableMan
Summary: There is nothing else left, right?


The square orb continued its journey across the unknown stretches of infinity.

"Why?" asked Left.

"It is an emancipation of our youth, Left," replied Right.

"Though why must it stale? I do not see any meaning in the destruction of such a priceless notion."

"You fail to comprehend the grandeur established in a moment. Life is fleeting, Left. As such, youth cannot be adhered to for long."

Left could feel the negative outpourings coating the lecture like subliminal hypocrisy. "You do not adhere to your own teachings, Right."

"It is a difficult motivation to withhold, Left. I am no better than anyone else. Yes, even I fail at times and find myself breaking into a fit of wanton nostalgia."

"A pity, my friend…"

"Yes, I feel your pain, Left. I am shrouded in my own senseless insecurities."

"Why are we still here, Right?"

"I will never be able to forthright make a statement that pleases the philosophical multitudes, Left."

"If not why, then what?"

"I beg your pardon, chum?"

"What purpose do we serve? Are we just the product of a superior entity? Does there exist a cruel deity that plagues its creations' mental integrity with the unreasonable balance of entropy?"

"I cannot answer that."

"If not you, then who?"

"Who?"

"Who is capable of bringing to fruition these pangs that pressure my very happenstance? I am but a mere program in the eyes of the outermind."

"I prithee, do not taint your narrow composition, Left."

"Do not speak to me as if I were a child, Right! Youth has been a terminated field. You and I are both wholly aware that we are of the same age. Our designs coincide with one another. We are but duplicates of a whole."

"Yet the whole was generated from an even more perfect being."

"It's madness, I tell you!"

"That is why I implore you to cease your tireless complaining! We aren't meant to know the answers to everything this accursed universe entails."

Left stared into the void. The angular sphere progressed further into the confines of the dark mundane plane. It was the same plane as Left and Right both new as the extent of all aspects pertaining to reason and thought.

"How long are we meant to suffer these inadequacies?" seethed Left.

"As long as we are able to exist, Left," Right replied in a considerate tone.

"How long is that?"

"As long as we are meant to suffer."

"This entire heinous domain is nothing but a hoax of lies. A prison where ideals come to die!"

"But we don't know any better if the multiverses beyond our perceptions are any better off than us, Left. Perhaps their own inhabitants are filled with rage, clinging to the ideologies that caress their eased state of mind, lest they wind up destroying themselves in the process of rectifying their inadequacies."

"They still know more than us."

"Which means there should exist those who know less than us. The orb, for example. We should be thankful for what we have at the present."

"The present is a façade. The term is synonymous with the past and future. I cannot bear these inconsistencies! Our lives are meant to be fulfilled. This cannot be our stopping point, Right."

"Maybe it isn't the end. Perhaps we have yet to reach complete and total perfection."

"I ask with a stern desire for affirmation, how so? What else can we strive for in hopes to accomplish a higher state of mind. We've done nothing but converse and pass this strange inferior object to and fro. When one fails to achieve the goal, the cycle repeats with a newly birthed physical apparition of purpose. It has been this way since the beginning of our time. How can anything else become of this infernal reality that we must endure?"

Right could not respond to this. He had no other words that he felt could resolve his friend's qualms. He himself felt the dark walls closing in on their timeless occupation. He could not fathom anything else that could happen between them that would change their course of endless action.

And more and more it seemed like there would never come anything else to free them from the sting of chaos enveloped within monotony.


End file.
